


Chamomile

by NomDePlumLoki



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Witcher - Fandom
Genre: Chamomile, Geraskier, M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25425904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NomDePlumLoki/pseuds/NomDePlumLoki
Summary: Jaskier offers to rub chamomile on Geralt's lovely bottom and the Witcher returns the favour. Sexy times ensue.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1
Kudos: 113





	Chamomile

Chamomile 

That really is a lovely bottom, Jaskier thinks as he reaches for the lotion. It’s round and tight, and fairly smooth, though he can see a little hair poking from the cleft. Yes, a lovely bottom indeed.

“Hold still,” he says as Geralt shifts beneath his touch. He’s laid out on his front on the inn’s shared bed, buttocks clenching every time Jaskier strays too close to his crack.

“Careful back there.”

Geralt’s skittish. He probably thinks Jaskier’s about to take advantage of him. Hell, if Jaskier were a lesser man he might even try it on, but he’s not, he respects Geralt’s right to have chamomile rubbed on his lovely bottom without any extra fondling, as much as he might like to.

“Don’t you want my help?”

Next time he can rub lotion on his own bottom, Jaskier thinks. It’s not that hard. And Geralt doesn’t even need the chamomile, not really. His arse is a little pink, but it could be worse for landing in patch of poison ivy with torn trousers. Those monsters really have no regard for tailoring.

But Geralt only grunts a response and buries his face in a pillow.

Jaskier sighs. It is a lovely bottom.

It’s just chamomile. It’s just Geralt’s behind.

Oh, what the hell. Why make a big deal out of it? Why store it away for later use when he’d really rather Geralt paid as much care and attention to Jaskier’s arse? Just act natural.

It is natural for him to flirt a bit.

“You have a lovely bottom, Witcher.”

There. It’s out. He waits for Geralt to shift away but he remains put, face pressed against the soft pillow as if he were biting down on it in an agony of pleasure.

“Did you hear me? You’ve a top-notch pair of buttocks. You could make money with those.”

Geralt raises his head but doesn’t look back at him. “You would know all about that, Bard.”

“I don’t make money with my arse I merely use it to get a bed for the night when times are tough and you’re not around to share with. But you’re here so there’ll be none of that tonight, mores the pity.”

“You don’t have to sleep here with me.”

“And I don’t have to rub chamomile on your arse but here we are. Besides, I can’t let you out of my sight or you’ll sneak off again and that wouldn’t do.”

“It would do me very well.”

Now that was mean. Why did Jaskier always let the bastard speak to him like that? Because he smells of death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak.

Never were truer words spoken. Jaskier has been pining for years now and it’s only gotten harder as time has gone on.

There’s a reason Geralt keeps him around too and they both know it. Jaskier clears his throat and starts up a well-known tune. “Toss a coin to your Witcher, oh valley of plenty,” then descends into humming. Geralt doesn’t like to be called anyone’s friend, and Jaskier usually respects that too when they’re alone, secure in the knowledge that if nothing else they really are friends. They wouldn’t be here like this now if they weren’t.

Geralt takes the hint and mumbles “Thank you,” as he drops his head again.

“That’s quite alright. I’m sure you’d rub chamomile on my bottom if I asked you to.” Jaskier had offered to help but Geralt never would, surely.

“Hmm.”

That might be a yes or a no.

Time to flirt again. “Anyway, I’m about done with your backside. Do you want me to rub this anywhere else? There’s probably some other patches that need a bit of attention and my hands are already nice and slippery.”

“Jaskier.”

“No?”

He waits just long enough for Geralt to refuse him but then the Witcher says, “My lower back, maybe. It feels a bit itchy.”

Does it now? There are a lot of very hard muscles on that back. Jaskier’s seen them plenty of times, patted them occasionally. Thank Melitele for chamomile.

“Very good.”

Jaskier pushes Geralt’s shirt up his body. There is a small patch of pink skin there after all. He sets to work.

“How do your thighs feel? Or your chest? That creature cut your clothes to ribbons.”

“The rest of me is fine.”

“Good. That’s good. You don’t want to be itchy. I don’t want you to be itchy. It’s not nice being itchy.”

“Are you done?”

He nearly is. “Hold on,” Jaskier says, rubbing the last patch of skin before withdrawing. He takes one more look at Geralt’s bare arse and sighs again, putting the whole experience away for later.

“Stop sighing,” Geralt says, shifting on the bed to pull up his torn trousers. He remains face down and doesn’t rise, just wriggles back into his clothes. If Jaskier didn’t know better he’d think he was trying to hide something big and hard.

“Are you just going to lay there for a bit?” Jaskier asks, rising from the bed.

“Do I need your permission?”

“No. You do as you please, just like always.”

That was designed to make Geralt feel guilty and it appears to work.

“You’ve been very… helpful,” he eventually manages.

He could be more than helpful if Geralt would just say the word.

“I appreciate you trying to be nice. That means a lot. Now would be a good time to thank me again.”

“Thank you.”

They stare at each other for a moment and Jaskier waits for Geralt again. He’s always waiting for him.

“And?” Jaskier asks.

“There’s an and?”

“And you’ll owe me a massage later, which I will hold you to because I like massages and you’ve got strong hands that would be perfect for it. Don’t worry, I won’t make you rub anything on my bottom unless you really want to return the favour.”

He’s just playing, but Geralt sits up and holds a hand out for the lotion.

“I’m not owing you. Let’s get this over with.”

“Now? Ah well, yes, very good.” Jaskier fiddles with his collar. The room suddenly feels very hot, which should make this a good time to take his clothes off. Unfortunately, Jaskier is painfully aware that if Geralt does place those big strong hands on his body he will get an erection the size of Bald Mountain. Which would be fine if he could just lay there and hide it, but Geralt can literally smell arousal. It’s one thing for him to smell it when they wake up in the mornings, it’s a whole other for him to smell it when he’s massaging Jaskier.

But he can’t tell Geralt that so he strips off his shirt and unbuttons his breeches, the waist being too high for a good back massage. He pushes them down slightly as he lays out on the bed and buries his face in a pillow.

Geralt sits down on the bed beside him. A moment later Jaskier feels the cool drizzle of chamomile lotion on his back and then Geralt’s timid hands.

“What do I do?” Geralt asks.

“Just rub the lotion in.”

That’s what Jaskier did after all, though he had a few flourishes. He was skillful enough he could call it a massage but Geralt surely wasn’t as experienced as he was.

Geralt’s hand start at Jaskier’s waist and move up to his shoulders. At first he’s too soft, but when Jaskier responds with praise he presses his thumbs into Jaskier’s shoulder blades, clumsy but willing.

Next his hands move slowly back down to the small of Jaskier’s back and carefully grip the sides of his body.

Jaskier is aware of two things. One, that’s where he keeps the very little extra flesh he carries, and two, Geralt is mere inches away from his hips now. It’s that thought that brings him to his third and most devastating conclusion. He’s becoming hard.

Geralt sniffs and Jaskier wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. As his body refuses to die he brazens it out instead. “That feels nice.”

Geralt, being Geralt, ought to let go of him right now. He ought to step back and tell Jaskier he’s not here to get him hot. He ought to roll his eyes and tell him to go find another bed for the night.

Instead, voice gruff and low, Geralt asks, “Shall I go lower?”

“If you want to.”

Geralt’s hands move lower, pushing back the material of Jaskier’s breeches as he goes. His fingers stray, thumbs ghosting across the valley of Jaskier’s behind.

“Lower?” Geralt asks again.

“Any lower and you’ll be inside me.”

After a moment’s hesitation Geralt asks, “Do you want that?”

Does he want that? Is Jaskier prepared to fuck up what he has with Geralt by making things awkward? Wouldn’t it be more awkward if he says no?

Geralt brings his thumb down so he’s pressing firmly on Jaskier’s flesh. He runs it down the crack, pausing at his hole and pushing against it. “Well?” he asks.

Geralt isn’t playing so Jaskier won’t either. “I have been flirting with you for a decade. You know I want it.”

“I’ve been ignoring you for a decade but here we are.”

Geralt pushes more insistently at the hole, slipping his lotion slicked thumb inside Jaskier and twisting it slowly.

“Ah fuck,” Jaskier says, bucking slightly as Geralt finds the right spot. “There it is. There it is. You’ve done this before.”

“Once or twice.”

“Well aren’t you full of surprises today.”

“Don’t think you’re getting this every day now,” Geralt replies, teasing Jaskier’s very favourite place like he wants him to come. “I’m helping you because you helped me.”

“Well, that’s generous,”—God, but Geralt’s thumb feels good—“but I wouldn’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable—” Before he can finish the sentence Geralt withdraws his thumb and stands.

“I’m comfortable,” he says, unbuttoning his leather trousers.

Geralt climbs onto the bed behind Jaskier, nudging his legs further apart with his knees. Jaskier can hear him slicking himself and then feel the nudge of Geralt’s long, thick cock against his entrance.

“Ready?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier squeaks into the pillow and Geralt pushes inside.

After that it’s all a blur to Jaskier. He’s aware that Geralt’s hands are keeping up something of a massage even as his cock spears him. His own prick rubs against the sheets, the friction getting him closer and closer until…

Sparks. He bites the pillow, feeling himself tighten around Geralt. And Geralt’s swearing very loudly and shoving his hips very hard and Jaskier is bucking against the mattress, a wet patch spreading beneath him.

And then it’s over.

Geralt pulls out and flops down on the bed beside Jaskier. “Debt paid?” he asks.

It’s not the sweetest pillow talk Jaskier has ever heard but it is uniquely Geralt.

“I think so,” Jaskier says, rolling onto his side so he can look at Geralt. The Witcher looks content, which is more than Jaskier could have hoped for.

He sighs for the third time. “Remind me to do you favours more often.”

“I’m not fucking you every time you lay a hand on me.”

So there will be more times. “But what are friends for?” Jaskier muses.

“We’re not friends.”

It doesn’t hurt. Jaskier even has to hide a smile at the thought of it. They’re not friends. They’re more than that now. Finally.


End file.
